After losing my computer and fifty chapters worth of carefully laid out story lines, I gave up on this thing. But now, after a re-read, I've decided it's worth pursuing again. It's mostly done from memory, though I'm happy with the new material too.
'The heaviest penalty for declining to rule is to be ruled by someone inferior to yourself.'
Plato
For his first Joining ceremony as a Warden, Aedan chose to say the words himself.
"Join us brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant."
Shadows indeed. It was a week since Bhelen's hasty departure from Denerim, and Rooke's audience chamber was now darkened by drawn curtains and low-burning torches. There were some secrets Aedan could afford to throw around in well-lit corridors of power, but not this one.
"Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn."
Alistair's hands grasped the Joining cup and he lifted it up from a small blackthorn table placed at the foot of the throne. It seemed just yesterday they were pulling it from the ice of Ostagar, marred by the ravages of winter and stinking of death.
"And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten."
This newest recruit had sacrificed much. All that remained was her life.
"And that one day we shall join you."
But not yet.
Alistair spoke next. "Cauthrien, step forward."
Alistair raised the goblet, looking like he wanted nothing more than to smash it and stab the woman before him with the largest shard.
Ser Cauthrien, stripped of her Summer Sword and red steel mail, looked vulnerable for the first time since their standoff before the Landsmeet. Victory over the darkspawn had robbed many still-grieving Loghain loyalists of the common enemy they shared with his conquerors, and Cauthrien was chief among them.
"You are asked to submit yourself to the Taint for the greater good."
Aedan had never noticed how small she was; the simple brown wool of her clothing hung from a body wasted by inadequate food and sleep. She had lived the first few weeks of this new era without a master or a purpose. But still Cauthrien carried herself with a warrior's pride, answering the call without hesitation. Back straight. Defiant eyes forward. Fate still unknown. She took only three steps across the stone floor, but in doing so crossed from one world into the next.
"From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden."
She took the cup in still, unshaking hands, her gaze never leaving Alistair's. For a moment, Aedan wondered if she was going to throw it back into his face. Aedan smirked at the thought, the heroic Ser Cauthrien going out like Jory, what a twist that would be for the songs.
She slowly raised the goblet. Aedan's heartbeat quickened. It was their first Joining Ritual, too late to doubt if they'd followed Riordan's documents to the letter. Two parts hurlock blood, one part Archdemon, one part lyrium. No going back.
Cauthrien slurped down the blood almost greedily. This was it. She would either die choking at their feet or live out her days in their service.
It was still an eerie experience; one Aedan was not used to, especially as an already tainted man. Cauthrien's eyes rolled into the back of her head, her body bent forward like a great, invisible hand was forcing it down. Her mouth dropped open and let out a strangled cry. The air thickened with a sinister, inexplicable power as she joined their bloody pact. Soon her strength faded and she fell like a puppet with cut strings. Aedan and Alistair moved closer. Duncan had seen enough of this practice to tell who would live or die before it was even over, but Cauthrien seemed to fight an endless battle. She heaved, growled and clenched her fists, willing herself through it. And then she was still.
Alistair kneeled down and placed a hand on her sweat-covered head.
"Well?" said Aedan.
"She's alive." He stood up. "We really need to start catching people on the way down during this thing."
Aedan could see his point. A bruise was already forming on her shining forehead.
"You were in no hurry."
"Oh, I wasn't referring to her, just making a general observation."
"Noted. Rooke will allocate a thousand sovereigns to the Joining Ritual Pillow Allowance."
Alistair chuckled. "Glad to see the fastest rising star in Denerim hasn't forgotten us entirely. These last two weeks it's been all politics with you."
It was hard to argue the point. There could be no denying that Aedan was trying to gradually pull himself away from the duties of a full-time senior Grey Warden. Not that he was done with them; the Wardens would play an integral role in his future, and the future of Ferelden, but he scoffed at the idea of letting them rule him outright.
"Of course I haven't forgotten the Order. We need Wardens, even with the Archdemon gone. Previous Blights were fought over multiple nations, spreading the horde thin when their leader died. This time around they're all concentrated in one area with a limited number of Deep Roads entrances. You can forget economic recovery without first reclaiming trade routes on the surface."
"Aaand, there it is. A perfect, politicised answer." Alistair gave Cauthrien a poke with his foot. She groaned, but seemed far from aware just yet. "I suppose we're done here."
"Two more things." Aedan produced a piece of fresh parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink. "First, I need you to sign this."
Alistair took the items. "What is it?"
"A request to Aeonar, the Templar prison. I need two inmates released immediately, matter of national security."
"Who?"
"Jowan. And that girl we spared taking back the Circle Tower."
Alistair, who once would have yelled and whined and spurted out a stream of blood mage clichés, merely frowned, scribbling down his signature after a moment's hesitation. Aedan thought it best to put his mind at ease.
"You have concerns?" he asked.
"I'm sure you know what you're doing. The 'man with the plan' right?"
Aedan nodded. "They're more useful atoning with actions, not words of contrition. I can't say anything else. Sorry. Need-to-know basis."
"What other signatures do you need?"
"Grand Cleric Elemena, and Knight Commander Tavish."
Alistair whistled. "That won't be easy."
Speak for yourself.
Alistair shot a quick glance at the still passed out Cauthrien before lowering his voice. "Does this have anything to do with…that thing you're sending Leliana to do?"
"No," said Aedan, dropping his own volume. "Different prison, different prisoner, different country, different purpose."
"I see. So what's next for or newest Warden then?"
Aedan folded up and pocketed the parchment. "When she comes to, pack her bags and take her to Soldier's Peak."
Alistair looked like someone had spat the blood in his face after all. "Take?!" he snapped. "As in accompany? As in I don't get to stay here and play king for a little while longer?"
"Yes. Be serious Alistair you've been desperate to get out of the capital for ages."
"As long as I get to finally start barking some orders." Alistair pointed a finger at the door and in his best impression of Aedan, cried: "Cauthrien! Fetch my chamber pot!"
Might as well ease him into it with humour.
"They'll be plenty of time for that on the road. And beyond: you're staying, for a little while."
"You're joking!"
"If I was, you'd be laughing."
"Why in Thedas would you need me at Soldier's Peak? Practically no one knows where it is except us!"
"Exactly. I feel exposed. Ever since we learned how easy it was for Howe to snatch up Riordan, I've felt exposed. The new Warden recruits we enlist have to be prepared, tested and enlisted by trusted veterans, away from potential saboteurs."
"Sometimes I think you're the only person that doesn't know everyone and their mother is lining up to lick your boots. The Wardens don't have any more enemies in his country, Aedan. None large enough for us to worry about."
"Don't be so sure."
If they get in my way, I'll give them plenty to worry about.
"If you're worried about security, then send me to Amaranthine! Am I not Acting Commander? I thought you gave me this position because you trust me! The whole Arling's ours now, remember?"
And here was the drawback of fostering healthier levels of selfishness and ruthlessness in his friend. A stronger-willed subject became harder to control. Allow them too much independence and they ended up developing delusions of tactical superiority. Aedan still needed to find the perfect balance with Alistair, but had no more patience for this.
"I'm hardly likely to forget such a thing am I?" he said dangerously. "Considering what I went through to acquire it, or who I had to kill?"
Alistair's head fell. "Sorry," he murmured.
"Amaranthine is vulnerable, Alistair. All our reports point to the Coastlands bearing the brunt of the horde's movements. Oghren's a fine killer, but even the battalions he's leading won't get all of the spawn before they reach the Arling."
Big mistake. This was enough to overpower Alistair's remorse, and anger returned. "Let me get this straight: you want to send me away from the horde, after the Archdemon's death?!"
"Keep your voice down!" Aedan hissed. "It's bad enough we have to do this in the capital, do you think bellowing Warden business helps?"
A man of Rooke's talents would have plenty of enemy spies already working in the estate, folding clothes, scrubbing pots and sweeping floors.
"Then tell me the truth," Alistair pressed. "Forget killing two birds with one stone, every throw from you is an avian genocide. No wonder Shale loves you so much. What's the real reason you're sending me to the Peak? Show me that much respect at least."
Aedan took a moment to scan the room. He found no irregularities among the hanging swords and mabari-strewn banners, but one could never be too careful. With a frown he realised that Gorim was late. That was peculiar.
"Alistair, we alone in all of Ferelden have the Archdemon blood necessary to perform the Joining without complications," he murmured.
I probably don't need to mention just how much leverage we have over the other Wardens with this.
"I need my best man transporting it. Nothing like a forgotten, off-the-map fortress for hiding precious commodities."
And 200 year old blood mages.
"So I babysit Cauthrien for a little while," Alistair said glumly. "When do I get to leave?"
"When I know Amaranthine is secure. What do I care for the Orlesian Wardens? Let them take the risk."
"And from your skittishness I'm guessing we won't be telling her about our little…you know?"
"No. I need you to keep that under wraps. Make sure the Drydens stay away, and don't encourage the new arrivals' curiosity either."
Avernus was far too important to give up now, and Cauthrien was far too morally inflexible to understand the importance of being at the cutting edge of blood magic research, even as a Warden. Avernus had already resisted the Calling and helped Aedan unlock just a sample of potential power their tainted blood granted them. In time, provided the breakthroughs continued, Soldier's Peak could rival Weisshaupt Fortress, putting the centre of Warden power and activity in Aedan's hands, alongside everything else he coveted.
No sooner had the two freezing fortresses crossed Aedan's mind than the sound of clanking armour began to swell from the hallway behind the main doors. The two of them exchanged a quizzical look.
"You know anything about this?" said Aedan quickly.
"No. Not a thing."
It sounded like marching; hasty, tense marching by men facing the possibility of walking into a fight.
"You don't think it's the new guards I sent for do you?"
Alistair's eyes widened. "Guards? We have guards now? Between rescuing Anora and your prison break at Fort Drakon I didn't think there were any left alive in the country."
A peculiar feeling that had nothing to do with nerves or confusion suddenly spread through Aedan, compelling him to reach down to his scabbard and grasp Starfang's hilt. Alistair seemed to feel it too, and his own fingers found Duncan's sword. Neither man sensed darkspawn, but still, there was something familiar about the reflex that thrummed deep inside. He wondered if it had anything to do with the residual dark magic clinging to the air following the Joining.
The chamber's doors burst open, letting in a great blaze of light, only half from the hallway's windows. The other half shone from silverite armour and weapons Aedan could see were both well-used and well-maintained. For one mad moment he thought the throne had been seized in some audacious coup, then through squinting, temporarily overwhelmed eyes he made out the shapes of griffon head helms.
The Orlesian Wardens.
He had not been sensing darkspawn, nor the Joining's magic, but the brothers and sisters that were bound with him to the aforementioned two.
There were no more than a dozen of them, but they marched in a formation ideal for skirmishing; maul and battleaxe-wielding dwarves making up the vanguard; keen-eyed elves with bows and quivers at the back, ready to nock and loose; martially versatile humans with sheathed longswords and halberds in hand making up the middle, along with the left and right flanks.
They stopped just a few paces away. Aedan slowly let go of Starfang, and implored Alistair to do the same with a nod of his head. They had run out of time. With so much else to juggle, Aedan had set this issue aside, putting perhaps too much faith in Alistair's penchant for stalling things. But this, like all problems one ignored, had sought them out in the end.
Before Aedan could utter a cautious greeting, the armoured Wardens parted, revealing a woman Aedan guessed to be in her early forties stood in the middle. She wore no armour or mail, but a long royal blue tunic emblazoned with a silver griffon. In a loud, deep voice she declared:
"I am High Constable Hertha Solveig, ambassador for Weisshaupt Fortress and emissary of the Grey Wardens."
Aedan and Alistair exchanged another startled look. That was not an Orlesian accent, and certainly not an Orlesian name. This was an Ander through and through; there was a coldness in her voice and her taut, pointed face; there were streaks of cold grey in her short blonde hair; there was a coldness in her stiff posture, and the way her black gloved hand caressed the mace in her belt.
"Charmed," Aedan said dryly. Most men allowed the arrival of a worthy adversary to unnerve them, but for Aedan it was becoming something of a sport.
Solveig's icy blue eyes switched from him to Alistair, who was already looking very apologetic. "Warden Theirin has been refusing to answer our questions or meet with us since the Archdemon fell," she barked.
Aedan kept his tone light. "Questions about what?"
"Your survival. Do not feign ignorance."
"My lady, gentlemen, I'm sure we can arrange-"
"No more delays. My time is valuable. Almost as valuable as the possibility of a living, breathing Archdemon killer walking the land."
"Alistair is the senior Warden here." Aedan cringed; he had not told that lie in almost a year. "This appears to be a matter between the two of you."
Alistair gave Aedan one quick thanks a lot look before finding his courage and rounding on the intruder.
"You assume meeting and talking wasn't on my schedule at all," he said glibly.
"And would that come before or after you alerted us of the recapture of Soldier's Peak?"
Aedan's jaw clenched. Someone talked. First Oghren's post in the army leaked, now this. He chose to deflect the question on Alistair's behalf.
"Alistair has been very busy. I have named him Acting Commander of the Grey in Ferelden."
Several griffon head helms turned sharply toward one another, the rest shook side-to-side in disbelief and disgust. Even Solveig 's frozen face betrayed her shock.
"Warden Cousland!"
"Please, call me Chancellor."
"Such an appointment is not within a Chancellor's power!"
"Check the job description, it's been updated."
"Only the First Warden can authorise that decision!" she snarled, continuing as if he hadn't spoken.
Cauthrien uttered her loudest groan yet, and upon turning back to her, Aedan saw to his annoyance, that her eyes were now wide open. Where was Gorim? Where was Rooke? She needed to be escorted out of here. An inter-Order struggle would not do as a first experience post-Joining.
"This is hardly the time or place, High Constable," he said through gritted teeth.
Solveig threatened to smile. "I agree. Simply tell us how you survived giving the killing blow and we shall leave. For now."
Aedan took his own turn to ignore her words. "And the secrecy of Soldier's Peak will be upheld for the foreseeable future, as a matter of security."
"Security?"
Even Aedan was sick of the word. It would not work as a trump card forever.
"A temporary, nationwide seizure of essential assets by the crown."
No longer content with shaking their helmeted heads, the Wardens broke out in indistinct, yet furious sounding words amongst themselves. Solveig's mouth became a thin line. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"The tale of Soldier's Peak is a cautionary one, a monument to our political neutrality. You would disgrace the memory of all who fell there by handing it over to a monarch?"
To myself actually, but this is no time for technicalities.
"Oh yes," she pressed, taking his defiant silence as surprise, "do not assume its history is so lost to all of us."
The time for courtesy was over. All respect Aedan had for the First Warden had vanished months ago, when Alistair detailed his function as an unmoving bureaucrat and glorified puppet-master to a weak Ander king.
"A lesson in political neutrality from Thedas' only Wardenocracy," he said.
Solveig didn't take the bait. "The First Warden reserves the right to-"
"It's on Fereldan soil."
"It is the Order's embassy!"
"You mean Weisshaupt's."
The sudden arrival of Gorim cut off Solveig's response. The dwarf stopped for a moment in the doorway, surveying the situation, wondering if he should send for help. He crossed the room as fast as his stunted legs and knightly dignity could allow (which was not much). Aedan saw he was holding a large bearskin cloak, and realised it was time to go.
The dwarf coolly met the eyes of every Warden in the room before reaching his friends. "Sorry I'm late Chancellor," he grunted.
"Get her out of here!" Alistair hissed. Cauthrien was now sat up and watching the proceedings, enraptured.
"It's begun," Gorim mouthed soundlessly, back turned to the other Wardens. The Alienage awaited them.
"Thank you Ser Gorim," said Aedan, taking the shining black cloak and throwing it around his shoulders. "High Constable, I have a speech to make at the Chantry, and victory tour of the city to kick off. If you wish to continue this deadlock, pick a number and get in line with the others."
He nodded to Gorim, who took Cauthrien by the arm, lifted her up and marched her out of the room. She was in no condition to resist. It would make for a convincing cover as the dwarf sent for backup.
Solveig sighed heavily. "You are free to make your speech, Chancellor." She pulled a scroll from her pocket. "But after that…" she unravelled the scroll, "by order of the First Warden, you will hand over the location of Soldier's Peak, and divulge the truth about your survival immediately, or you will accompany us to Weisshaupt Fortress, where you will undergo a hearing with the First Warden himself, and the assembled Commanders of the Grey."
Aedan laughed. "Absolutely not."
"Chancellor or no, you are still an underling."
Aedan folded his arms. "This isn't an arrest, you and I both know that."
"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!"
Melwyn Rooke stormed into the room, leading Aedan's personal guard. These were elite, handpicked Blackstone Irregulars; men and women who had survived both the worst of the Civil War and battles of the Blight. Each of them was a match for any Grey Warden. They were clad in Master Wade's latest gift: silverite armour died black, gleaming like marble. Their helms were carved into the shape of mabari hound heads, hiding their features. Their shields and chestplates bore the sigil of Highever.
The Irregulars broke formation into two strands, marching aggressively past the Wardens and reforming on either side of Aedan. Upon stopping, they lowered their spears, forcing the Warden halberds to come down in a mirroring defensive posture. Solveig was unmoved and unimpressed.
Aedan appreciated the excitement of a standoff, though knew it would never escalate beyond this. Such things were often only tests between leaders, prodding followers and enemies alike, trying to find out how far they were willing to go. But they were too near the Royal Palace. It would not do for Anora to learn of disharmony among the Wardens already.
"A High Constable is second only to the First Warden, yes?" Aedan asked with the air of a man at a royal banquet, ignoring the fence of pointed spears and halberds that enclosed the two of them.
"That is correct."
"Funny. I thought an ambassador and emissary would be better trained in etiquette. Admit it, this was not a well thought out operation on your part; you seriously didn't plan for the possibility of my resistance?"
Aedan did not trust the idea of a Warden who would retreat into the comfort of the Order's own bureaucratic hierarchy while trying to maintain their façade as a proactive, relevant warrior. Choose one world or the other. At least he was honest and open about his own political aspirations. Mostly. Both the First Warden and this bossy second in command of his had sat out the Fifth Blight, the defining event of generations for any Warden. He didn't believe they cared one bit for Soldier's Peak, and discovering the truth of his survival was only partial motivation for this visit. In truth, strong arming him was Weisshaupt's attempt to appear a busy and effective force in the world.
Solveig had nothing to say.
Alistair took the chance to press her. "The Blight caught Weisshaupt with its pants down, ma'am. Duncan deserved better: more men, more resources, treaties that weren't sitting in a ruin, surviving on a fading magical seal. And sending in only Riordan when no word came! The fact that this debacle ended up in the hands of only three Wardens is a far bigger disgrace."
Rooke took his turn. "You were fully aware of the ramifications of our war with Orlais. You knew Loghain would never allow Orlesian Wardens in bulk. Did you even think to spare any of the one thousand Wardens lying about that frozen wasteland you call home?"
Aedan remembered the story of Rooke's mother. If there was anybody outside the Wardens who would be offended by Weisshaupt's inaction, it was him. Losing her in a darkspawn raid, then seeing his best friend deny the Blight must have cut deep.
This was fun, but Aedan knew it was time to wrap things up. Everyone had said far too much. "Let's be realistic. I'm not going anywhere. You could try to take me by force, but that would be a terrible waste of your time, effort and internal organs."
"Why do you guard this secret so closely?" Solveig demanded. "This is unprecedented, Chancellor; the chance to never again lose the most important life in a Blight. Do you have any idea what this-"
"Yes I do." Aedan took one step forward, bringing all the Irregulars with him and sending all the Wardens one step back in a satisfying clink of armour. "As Urthemiel's killer I am untouchable. I daresay if I walked, or demanded reform, the rest of the Order would follow. Our public image, our very future, hinges on me. And being in my good graces." He cleared his throat, assuming the statesmanlike pose his father had perfected; hands clasped behind the back. "As for how I survived…well, I don't know."
Solveig's face turned even sourer. "Nonsense. You would not obfuscate and evade for this long."
Alistair shook his head. "He's telling the truth, High Constable. Aedan loves the sound of his own voice. If there was some great, profound magical breakthrough made to explain his survival, he'd be talking our ears off right now."
Aedan could have kissed him right there. At last Alistair understood the formula for perfect lying: honest emotions bolstering false facts.
After another stony silence, Rooke spoke. "We appear to be at an impasse, Madame Solveig. Kindly remove yourself from my estate."
The halberds came up. Aedan waved his men off and the spears followed.
Solveig took a deep breath. "We will remember this, Chancellor."
Aedan smirked at her. "My advice, I hope. I'd hate for you to come all this way and learn nothi- AH!"
He winced, clutching his chest as a blaze of pain tore through him, leaving the heavy, familiar sensation of magic in its wake.
The Irregulars flew back into formation. "I'm fine! I'm fine!" he gasped before anyone made a mistake that caused a diplomatic incident.
Solveig was finally smiling. It was as cold as the rest of her. The Warden now at her side wore an even more triumphant expression. She was a younger woman, an elven mage. Aedan must have missed her amongst the mass of armoured humans.
"As you say, Arl Rooke," said the elven mage. "We got one thing we came for."
As the Wardens cleared out, Aedan tried to place this arcane feeling. It was not his darkspawn sense, nor his Warden kinship, nor the sinister energy of the Joining. Upon remembering it, he felt a second stab, this one more dread than pain.
Aedan had not felt this since drinking Avernus' concoction, since tapping into what the old mage called the Power of Blood.
Alistair looked frightened. "Aedan, what was that?"
"Later Alistair, much later."
Aedan wondered just how much lore and history the libraries of Wiesshaupt Fortress held. He wondered if they knew of Avernus, or his research. Had he just been outfoxed again? Did the Wardens already know about Morrigan's ritual, and were using it as a cover? Was the overtly confrontational ineptitude all just a front to test if he had acquired the Power of Blood?
He shook his head like Berthold after a rigorous bath. No. He was getting paranoid. Even if Weisshapt were after what he thought they were, the matter would have to wait. He couldn't go to the Chantry so unfocused.
Rooke voiced his own concerns. "This will alter our plans. Do not be surprised if the First Warden goes over your heads and appeals straight to Anora."
Meanwhile, Alistair was busy muttering angrily to himself again.
"They should just rename this the Euphemistic Threats Room. Why, why do people keep lining up to get threatened by him in fancy estates? Is it some sort of sick sex thing? I swear it must be a sex thing."
"Your carriage is here, Ser Cauthrien."
Cauthrien, wide awake and fully clothed since the crack of dawn, shook her head.
"I'm not a knight anymore."
The elf Cousland had sent bowed his head nervously and left her alone.
Cauthrien regarded her quarters one last time. A simple, minimally decorated room, just like her lodgings at the Gwaren keep. Perhaps it would be good to leave. There were memories here that would never die, but perhaps fade with the pain. This was where he would come for those shared nights they never spoke of. She reached for her trunk, hoping movement would keep her mind from wandering.
Everything left in her life was packed in there. She would be allowed to wield the Summer Sword again, but not until they reached the Peak. For now it was locked in another case, stored in her carriage.
It was still early when she left the room, dragging the trunk behind her. The only others moving about the lower reaches of the Palace were servants, lucky elves and unlucky humans.
Outside she saw Alistair seated next to the carriage driver, a portly dwarf. Already she could tell he would ride up front the whole way, leaving her alone inside, a glorified prisoner.
Cauthrien wondered what she'd have to do to earn the ungrateful whelp's respect. If surrendering at the Landsmeet, fighting the horde as they stormed the city and offering no resistance to the Right of Conscription wasn't enough, nothing would do. Cousland may have shown the gravitas and conviction of a younger Loghain during the war, but ever since he'd cut off that tainted dragon's head, his every move and word had dripped with slime. She trusted his lapdogs no better. The so-called Acting Commander of the Grey didn't even acknowledge her as she climbed in and closed the door.
But despite everything, Cauthrien was smiling as the horses began to move and the carriage with them. Her little performance the day before had been quite convincing. Cousland and Theirin had no idea how long she had been conscious and aware of their conversation.
They were hiding something at Soldier's Peak, something that had earned the ire of the First Warden. Her idol was dead, but Cauthrien still served her beloved Ferelden. She would not see her new order sabotaged by corruption.
She vowed to discover the secret, even if it meant her true end.
I've started writing the upcoming Hawke chapters. Should Hawke be male or female? Let me know in your reviews.